The gates of the Sanctuary were left open and the casket placed in front of the altar as near the rail as possible.
During the Mass the music was almost joyous. Reverend Mother ordered this expressly so that the bereaved parents might be soothed in their grief.
Six little girls dressed in white walked beside the casket as it was borne to the grave, and now our dear, our beloved one sleeps under the Lilies, emblematic of her own pure soul.
Funeral Sermon.
Dear Friends, I need not tell you who is she over whom we weep today. You well remember little Amy, who only a few months ago knelt at this altar to receive Our Lord for the first time.
Like St. Imelda her heart and soul were absorbed in love for Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. On the night of the day Amy made her First Communion, her mother heard her crying and sobbing in her bed. When asked what could cause such grief, she answered: "O, Mother, this was the happiest day of my life, and I grieve because it is ended."
This child was especially loved by God. Graceful in form, lovely in feature, and in innocence of heart an angel, she seemed like some bright heavenly spirit lent for a time to the world to light up God's love in it.
There was about Amy a spiritual refinement—a looking forward to the things that are to come, a sweetly sad yearning towards Jesus, the object of her young heart's pure love.
Our Lord was jealous of the possession of so pure a soul, and before its loveliness might be tarnished by any fault incident to human frailty, he called her from earth to place her near His Sacred Heart for eternity.
Amy's whole life seemed to tend to one point, namely to love God above all things and in all things; she knew that without God's love man is not fulfilling his destiny, he is astray on a pathless waste—a ship on a storm-tossed sea, without helm and without hope.